that in so little time without extremity of sickness had been seen.' She heard mass that day for the last time, and thenceforth so long as they remained together both she and her husband were to be Protestants. In true Calvinistic fashion the Earl did public penance for his past iniquities. A sermon followed the marriage, in which the bishop 'did declare the penitence of the Earl Bothwell for his life past, confessing himself to have been an evil and wicked liver, which he would now amend, and conform himself to the Church.' The passive Queen in all things submitted. His first act was to obtain a revocation from her of all licenses to use the Catholic services, and a declaration that for the future the Act of Religion of 1560, prohibiting the mass to every one, should be strictly maintained.2 It seems as if the fatal step once taken, Mary Stuart's spirit failed her. More than once already in her sane intervals she had seen through the nature of the man for whom she was sacrificing herself. She had been stung by his coldness, or frightened at his indifference, which she struggled unsuccessfully to conceal from herself; and the proud woman had prostrated herself at his feet, in the agony of her passion, to plead for the continuance of his love.3 1 Drury to Cecil, May 16: Bor- | words. It was written just before der MSS. the marriage. ་ 'Monsieur, 2 KEITH. 3 How profoundly she was atSi l'ennuy de tached to Bothwell appears in the vostre absence, celuy de vostre oubli, following letter—one of the two of la crainte du dangier tant promis which I have recovered the original | dun chacun a vostre tant ayme per She was jealous of his divorced wife, to whom she suspected that he was still attached, and he in turn was sonne peuvent me eonsoller, je vous en lesse a juger; veu le malheur que mon cruel sort et continuel malheur m'avoient promis, a la suite des infortunes et craintes, tant recentes que passes, de plus longue main, les quelles vous scaves. Mais pour tout cela je me vous accuserai ni de peu de souvenance, ni de peu de soigne, et moins encore de vostre promesse violee, ou de la froideur de vos lettres; m'estant ya tant randue vostre que ce qu'il vous plaist m'est agreable; et sont mes penses tant volonterement aux vostres asubjectes, que je veulx presupposer que tout ce que vient de vous procede non par aulcune des causes desusdictes, ains pour telles qui sont justes et raisonnables, et telles que je desire moymesme: que est l'ordre que m'aves promis de prendre final pour la seurte et honorable service du seul soubtien de ma vie, pour qui seul je la veux conserver et sans lequel je ne desire que breve mort: or est pour vous tesmoigner combien humblement sous vos commandement je me soubmetz, je vous ay envoié en signe d'homage par Paris l'ornement du chief, conducteur des aultres membres, inferant que vous investant de la despoille luy qui est principal, le rest ne peult que vous estre subject; et avecques le consentement du cœur, an lieu du quil, puis que le vous ay ja lesse, je vous envoie un sepulcre de pierre dure, peinct du noir, seme de larmes et de ossements. La pierre je la compare a mon cueur qui comme luy est talle en un seur tombeau, ou receptacle de vos commandments, et sur tout du vostre nom et memoire, que y sont enclos comme mes cheveulx en la bague, pour jamais n'en sortir que la mort ne vous permet faire trophée des mes os: comme la bague en est remplie, en signe que vous aves fayt entiere conqueste de moy de mon cueur, et jusque a vous en lesser les os pour memoir de vostre victoire et de mon agreable perte. 'Les larmes sont sans nombre, ainsi sont les craintes, de vous desplair; les pleurs de vostre absence et le desplaiser de ne pouvoir estre en effect exterieur vostre comme je suys sans faintyse de cueur et d'esprit : et a bon droit quand mes merites seront trop plus grands que de la plus perfayte que jamais feut, et telle que je desire estre: et mettray peine en condition de contrefair pour dignement estre employee soubs vostre domination. Resents la donc mon seul bien en aussi bonne part comme avecques extreme joie j'ay fait vostre mariage, qui jusque a celuy de nos corps en public ne sortira de mon sein, comme merque de tout ce que jay ou espere ni desire de felicite en ce monde. Or craignant mon cueur de vous ennuyer autant a lire que je me plaise descrir, je finiray, apres vous avoir baisé les mains d'aussi grande affection, que je prie Dieu o le seul soubtien de ma vie vous la donner longue et heu irritated at any trifling favour which she might show to others than himself. On the day of her marriage she told du Croq that she was so miserable that she only wished for death; and two days after, in Bothwell's presence, she called for a dagger to kill herself.3 Du Croq gave her poor consolation. He told her that her marriage was utterly inexcusable; if the Queen-mother had not forbidden him to leave his post he would not have remained in Edinburgh after it had taken place, and he refused to pay respect to Bothwell as her husband. Yet her periods of wretchedness were but the reuse, et a moy vostre bonne grace comme le seul bien que je desire et a quoy je tends.'-MSS. MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, vol. ii. No. 66. Rolls House. 1 There is often jars between the Queen and the Duke already. He was offended with her for the gift of a horse which was the King's to the Abbot of Arbroath' (Lord John Hamilton).-Drury to Cecil, May, 1567: Border MSS. The anger about Arbroath may have been jealousy. There is a witch in the North Land,' Drury wrote on the 20th of May, 'that affirms that the Queen shall have yet to come two husbands more; Arbroath shall be one of them, to succeed the Duke now, who she says shall not live half a year or a year at the most. The fifth husband she names uot, but she says in his time she shall be burned, which death divers doth speak of to happen to her, and as yet it is said she fears the same.' 2 A very commonplace reason was given by Maitland for her unhappiness. 'Bothwell,' he said, would not let her look at any one, or let any one look at her, et qu'il scavoit bien qu'elle aymoit son plaisir et a passer son temps aultant que autre dumond.'-Du Croq to Catherine de Medici, June 17: TEULET, vol. ii. Du Croq to Catherine de Medici, May 18: Ibid. Sir James | Melville, probably referring to the same scene, says, 'The Queen meanwhile was so disdainfully handled and with such reproachful language, that in presence of Arthur Erskine, I heard her ask for a knife to stab herself; 'or else,' said she, 'I shall drown myself.''— Memoirs of Sir James Melville. 4 Si est ce que jay parle bien hault . . . ni depuis ne l'ay point voullu recognoistre comme mary de la Reyne.'-TEULET, vol. ii. ness. intermittent cold fits in the fever of her passion. She had sacrificed herself soul and body, and he held her enthralled in the chains of her own burning affection. In Scotland generally there was yet outward stillThe Lords had threatened that if she married they would crown the Prince. It seemed as if they had thought better of it, for they dispersed to their homes; and the Queen, taking courage, sent a demand to the Earl of Mar for the surrender of Stirling and of the child. Elizabeth's uncertain answer had delayed the resolution to act; and Mar, not venturing to give a direct refusal, could only reply that he dared not deliver the Prince out of his hands without consent of the Estates.' The answer was allowed to pass. It was not Bothwell's object to precipitate a quarrel, and he continued to follow the course which he began at his marriage by paying court to the Protestants. He attended the daily sermons with edifying regularity, and was pointedly attentive to the ministers. Every day he rode out with the Queen, and was ostentatiously respectful in his manner to her. There were pretty struggles when he would persist in riding 'unbonneted,' and she would snatch his cap and force it on his head. 'The hate of the people increased more and more,' yet he would not see it; and though he went nowhere without a guard, yet he offered himself as a guest at the meals of the unwilling Edinburgh citizens. On the 25th of May, to amuse the people, there was a pageant at Leith, and a sham fight on the water was got up by Bothwell's followers. Everything was tried to dispel the strangeness, and make the marriage appear like any other ordinary event. The Bishop of Dunblane was sent to Paris, to pacify the Queen's friends there. He was to excuse her as having been forced into marrying Bothwell by what had happened at Dunbar; yet not so severely to blame him as to make him appear unfit to be her husband. It was but a limping message. She said in her instructions to the Bishop, that the Earl had been misled into violence by the vehemency of his love, that he had been a faithful servant in her past troubles, and, that persecuted as he was by calumny, she had no means of saving his life except by becoming his wife. Not very consistently with this argument, she said that all Scotland seemed to be at his devotion. Her people desired to see her married rather to a native Scot than to a stranger. Bothwell had shocked her in many ways; especially he ought to have considered what was due to her religion. Yet she did not wish that too much fault should be laid upon him. The past could not be recalled. He was her husband, and she trusted that other courts would accept him as such. It might be objected that he had been already married; but a legal divorce had been pronounced, and he was free before she became his wife.1 She could not conceal from herself the lameness of the explanation, but she hoped it would be admitted as tolerable; and she wrote at the same time to the 1 Instructions to the Bishop of Dunblane; KEITH, |